


Accommodation

by akamww3



Series: Encounters [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brief swearing, Establishing Relationship, F/M, Fluff (unfortunately!), Mollcroft, Molly Visits Mycroft's Home For First Time, Mycroft and Molly, Oral Sex, Post-TAB Setting, Sexual Content (Mature to Explicit)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6298987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamww3/pseuds/akamww3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Mycroft welcomes Molly into his home … and makes her feel very welcome indeed</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>[Note: This includes more details about Mycroft's home than may seem/be necessary, but the purpose is partly to set up future installments.]</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exploring

**Author's Note:**

> _Images relate to story details ...._
> 
>  
> 
>  

Molly Hooper came out of her bedroom early Sunday morning, almost bouncing with nerves and excitement, and stopped abruptly when she saw Mycroft was pacing between the kitchen and sofa and back again, mobile held at his ear. Although he was wearing the casual clothes from the night before, he still retained an aura of easy elegance and radiated a powerful sense of command. He might as well be wearing one of his perfectly tailored three-piece suits rather than the cashmere jumper and moleskin trousers, she thought, glancing down at herself a bit ruefully. _She_ just looked casual – probably _too_ casual – in her pink cable-knit jumper, skinny jeans and trainers. When she looked up, Mycroft had come to a stop and was studying her, head tilted to the side, while he continued to listen and make the occasional low comment. His gaze ran down her body and seemed to become fixed on her feet. Molly looked at them as well - black and pink floral high tops with black laces, thick white soles and the familiar swooping logo – then her eyes met his, and he gave her a brief smile before turning to pace toward the kitchen again. What had _that_ been about, she wondered. Did he think her shoes looked silly?

~ ~

Mycroft momentarily lost his train of thought and paused in his conversation when Molly came into the sitting room looking so bright-eyed and eager, albeit with an underlying nervousness she was obviously trying to hide. He found himself unexpectedly charmed by her decidedly offbeat choice of footwear, although her characteristic youthful appearance did make him feel each of the eleven years separating them. It also made him fleetingly discomfited by the incipient stirring of arousal he experienced when Molly regarded him with such intentness, making no attempt to disguise the attraction she felt for him. He briefly smiled at her in acknowledgment, then turned away and forced himself to concentrate on the call.

~ ~

“Do you need to go to the office?”

“Later perhaps, but not now,” Mycroft replied, then slid the phone into his trouser pocket and bent to kiss her, smiling wryly as he straightened. “You’re not off the hook.”

“I didn’t mean –” Molly’s indignant response was smothered by Mycroft’s lips, and she returned his kiss enthusiastically as she lifted onto her toes and threw her arms around his neck. _“Mmm,_ stubble,” she murmured, trailing her fingers over his jaw as he lifted his head.

Mycroft rubbed his cheek and frowned. “I’ll shave at home,” he said, then dropped his hand and raised his brows inquiringly. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” she said, then arched a brow suggestively. “And that _wasn’t_ a complaint.”

~~~~~

Molly’s stomach muscles tensed when they drove past Marble Arch half an hour later and continued up Park Lane along the eastern edge of Hyde Park. She didn’t know where they were going, but apparently her nerves were warranted if his home was located anywhere in the vicinity. They turned up Mount Street and hadn’t gone far before they turned into a narrow lane and drove along a tall brick wall, finally coming to a stop in front of a glossy black carriage-style door, which rose smoothly in its tracks when Simon touched a button on the car’s dashboard. Molly glanced at Mycroft and valiantly returned his smile as the car pulled into the garage and the door closed behind them. She could only hope he couldn’t see the strain she felt from trying to ignore the butterflies banging against the walls of her stomach. _Butterflies?_ More like a bunch of _bats_ flapping their wings.

Mycroft pushed his door open and offered Molly a hand to help her slide over the seat and climb out of the car. Despite Simon’s presence, Mycroft kept hold of her hand as they walked across the very clean, very organized garage to a glossy black, but otherwise plain, metal door. Molly looked away when Mycroft lifted his free hand toward the security panel and only turned back when the beeps stopped … and then flushed at Mycroft’s amused expression. He opened the door and waited for her to proceed him, then took hold of her hand again as they walked a short way down a corridor past an opening to a utilitarian concrete stairwell and through another heavy door before stopping in a vestibule with an inset door to a lift on the left and a set of heavily paneled wood doors straight ahead. Molly eyed the unmarked double doors curiously. She also wondered where Simon had gone and glanced up at Mycroft without saying anything.

“My housekeeper lives there,” he said as the lift door opened. “Mrs. Bell.”

“You don’t live in a flat then,” she said drily.

“No.” Mycroft urged Molly into the lift, then looked down at her with raised brows. “That’s not really a surprise, is it?”

Molly just shrugged. “Will Mrs. Bell be upstairs?”

“She’s likely visiting her daughter’s family today,” he said. “Mrs. Bell has most weekends off and we often don’t see each other, but she makes herself available if something unusual is going on – such as my parents visiting.”

Molly felt a renewed pang of embarrassment at the thought of his parents. “How often do they visit?”

“Not often – every few months or so,” he said in a neutral tone, then added drily. “More frequently if I fail to make the trip to Surrey often enough to suit my mother.”

“You parents live in Surrey?”

“Mmm, near Guildford.”

Molly suddenly noticed how long they’d been on the lift. “Where are we going, Mycroft?”

The lift came to a stop at that moment and the lift door slid open ... onto another door. “I thought we’d start at the top and work our way down,” he said as he opened the outer raised panel door that matched the others leading off the landing. The landing had a dark oak floor, closed doors in front of them and to the right, a short hall to the left with a closed set of double doors at the end - and, she found to her surprise, it opened onto a large spiral staircase on the left.

Molly leaned over the decorative wrought iron banister and gasped. _“Good god,_ Mycroft! How many floors are there?”

“The spiral staircase starts at the ground floor,” he said, without answering directly. “Come this way.” She said nothing more as she followed him _up_ the stairs, which ended in a relatively small rectangular landing that had another heavy metal door and a security panel. He typed in a code, then pushed the door open, and sunlight suddenly flooded the stairwell.

Molly gasped again as she brushed past Mycroft and out onto a roof terrace. “Oh my god! This is fantastic!” She turned in a circle, then hurried to the stucco wall that bordered the terrace. It was about a meter high with a decorative railing of twisted wrought iron above that. Scattered furniture was all covered by fitted tarps, but from their shapes appeared to be a dining table and chairs, some sort of bench, several chairs and side tables, and a couple of loungers. She walked the circuit around the edge, dodging large planters holding tall grasses that waved in the light breeze, then came to a stop in front of Mycroft, who’d been leaning against the outer wall of the stairwell, ankles crossed, hands in his trouser pockets, as he watched her explore. “It really is fantastic, Mycroft. Do you use it?”

“Not often,” he said. “When my parents are visiting, we may have a meal or two up here, but it’s not convenient for working – and even if it were, I find being outdoors a distraction.” _And potentially dangerous if he wasn’t paying attention._

“That’s a shame,” she said. “Getting some fresh air might be good for you.”

Mycroft gave her a brief smile and straightened away from the wall. “Are you ready to continue the tour?” Molly looked around again, then nodded. “We can use the stairs for the trip down.” When they reached the landing, he turned to the left. “This is the bedroom my parents normally use,” he said, pushing the double doors open.

The bedroom was a large rectangle, with a high ceiling, a walk-in clothes closet and two windows that overlooked the back side of the townhouse. The carpet and drapes were pale blue, the thick duvet covering the king-sized bed was ivory, a Queen Anne style bench at the foot of the bed had a thick tufted cushion in a russet leather – similar to the color and style of the twin wing chairs in the sitting area. There were colorful throws on the chairs and a stack of books on each bedside cabinet and other signs of his parents’ occasional occupation. The ensuite had a glass enclosed shower, separate tub, double-basins in a wide, furniture-style vanity, separate loo … and again some personal items arranged on the vanity and edge of the tub – toiletries and the like - that made Molly feel uncomfortable, as if she were invading the senior Holmeses’ privacy.

They then moved to the other end of the corridor, where there were two more guest bedrooms – again with high ceilings and decorative ceiling cornices. One had a double bed with a small ensuite. The other was another large bedroom, with a king-sized bed, a dainty desk placed within a beautiful half-circle bow-front window, and double built-in clothes closets. Its ensuite wasn’t overly large, but included a separate tub and shower, spacious single-basined vanity and enclosed loo. All three bedrooms were lovely and well-appointed, but Molly was relieved to feel their _comfort_ as well.

As Molly followed Mycroft down the stairs, she asked, “So yours is on the next floor down?”

“That’s right,” he said lightly, and Molly wondered at his tone when they arrived on the landing, which was again floored in a rich dark oak. Only two doors opened onto the landing – a single door directly across from the lift and a set of double doors just past the stairwell on the left. He turned left and looked at Molly over his shoulder as he pushed the doors open, then stepped backward into the room and bowed her in. “Welcome, my dear.”

It quickly became apparent that Mycroft’s bedroom wasn’t _on_ the second floor … his suite _was_ the second floor.

They stopped just inside the room, and Molly didn’t try to hide her curiosity. In contrast to the light-colored carpets and painted walls of the bedrooms on the floor above them, the dark wood flooring from the landing continued into Mycroft’s bedroom, softened by several area rugs, and the walls she could see were covered in a vintage, two-toned beige, floral damask wallpaper. A dividing wall extended partway across the room from the entrance, but the half she could see had the same tall windows on the back wall as in his parents’ room above. To the left of the door were neatly filled bookcases (not for Mycroft the overflowing mess of Molly’s bookcases!) and a sitting area with a large Chesterfield, coffee table, two deep-buttoned club chairs, and lamp tables. The sofa had a dark blue throw tossed casually over one end and the soft leather upholstery actually showed signs of regular use. “Is this where you take your naps?”

Mycroft snorted, then returned Molly’s smile with a rather sheepish one of his own. “I can’t say that’s never occurred,” he said, walking over to the sofa and bending to fold the throw. “It’s a comfortable sofa.”

Molly walked further into the room until she could see the other half, and her gaze immediately became fixed on the large mahogany four-poster bed - king-sized and, as promised, _tall –_ set against a solid beige wall. The thick duvet was a narrow navy-on-navy stripe topped by several loose cushions piled haphazardly against the headboard … solids and patterns leaning mostly toward beige, ivory, burgundy and navy – colors that were repeated in other soft furnishings in the room.

Molly started when Mycroft rested his hands on her shoulders and propped his chin on the top of her head. “I told you it was tall.”

“So you did,” she said quickly and slipped out from under his hands and moved to look at the chest of drawers placed against the dividing wall. It was topped by an arched mirror in a decorative wood frame, but she was more interested in inspecting the contents of the valet tray resting on top of the chest beside an oval military hairbrush and fine tooth comb. She fingered his pocket watch and chain, a silver lighter, a set of gold cufflinks … and was momentarily overwhelmed by a feeling of intimacy at seeing such personal items left where Mycroft had undoubtedly removed them from his person. She dropped her hand as he came up behind her again.

Mycroft lifted his brows as their eyes met in the mirror. “What’s caught your attention?”

Rather than answer that, she pointed at the wallpaper behind the mirror and the solid colored wall that was reflected in it. “Why the one beige wall?”

“I suppose to lessen the likelihood of having a busy wallpaper right next to clashing bed linens.”

“That makes sense,” she said, then turned around to face him. “What else is on this floor?”

Mycroft moved to a paneled pocket door and slid it open. Molly joined him at the threshold, peering curiously into the shadows beyond until he flipped on a light to reveal a dressing room – a long open recess with suits hung in a neat row and built-in shelving and drawers taking up the narrower right side, with the deeper left side having a tall cheval glass, padded bench, valet stand, and tall wardrobe with plenty of floor space for changing clothes. They were on the other side of the wall to the landing area, but the dressing room was much wider and she thought longer as well, and the pocket doors at either end maximized the usable space. She brushed her hand along the row of suits, stopping to finger a sleeve here and there, and then closed her eyes and quietly drew a deep breath. The room smelled marvelous, and she tried to identify the scents. Shoe leather and polish, yes. A touch of sandalwood. Freshly laundered shirts.

Mycroft cleared his throat and looked at her before opening the other door. “Keep in mind that I didn’t design the bathroom, Molly. I’ve thought about renovations over the years, but never got around to it,” he added as he swung the door wide.

“Good lord, Mycroft!” While the ensuite stretched the width of the townhouse, it wasn’t as deep as the bedroom, but the floor space still boggled Molly’s mind. Straight across from them was the same half-circle bow-front window as in the bedroom above, but this one had a cushioned window seat along its arc, which Molly was sure was entirely wasted on Mycroft since she couldn’t imagine him ever using it. The large spider plant set on a claw-footed stand at its edge seemed to be thriving however.

In the middle of the wall to the left was a built-in dressing table with a smooth black marble surface and large, lighted rectangular mirror. A padded bench was pushed all the way under the table and Molly thought that fixture was also likely never used - unless by a guest - since a potted peace lily was the only thing on its surface. A paneled door just inside the bathroom to the left was, as Molly confirmed, to a loo.

The most surprising feature, though, was the oversized, circular, _whirlpool_ tub situated on its own in the center of the room. Molly looked up at Mycroft who’d remained quietly standing beside her as she studied the room. “Do you use the tub much?”

“I prefer showers, but I occasionally take a bath if I’ve been sitting too long and for too many days,” he said. “It’s almost as good as a massage for loosening tight muscles.”

Past the tub, in the corners on either side of the room, were matching sink units, each with a single, central basin set in a black marble top. In the center of the far wall was an arched opening through which Molly could see a glass wall. Mycroft followed Molly as she walked to the far end of the bathroom and through the archway. A paneled door to the left was to a second loo. The rest of the space was a tiled shower enclosure with a front glass wall that went from floor to ceiling and had a glass door centered in it. Molly studied the built-in tiled bench at the back, large circular showerhead dropped down from the ceiling, angled showerheads on the side walls (one with an extra handheld unit), and several convenient grab bars. She felt warmth rise in her cheeks on recalling Mycroft’s comment about the grab bar and cocked her head to study the control box on the wall just inside the door and the extra venting high on either side wall. “Is this a steam room?”

“Shower and steam room,” he said, “and, yes, I do use the steam feature at least weekly.”

Molly turned back to look at other details – heated towel racks on otherwise wasted wall space, the window between the tub and front sink unit, as well as more green things – a large ginger-jar planter containing bamboo stalks and a bowl-style planter with an aloe vera plant. They remained silent for a while, then Molly finally turned to look up at Mycroft. “This is the most _impractical_ bathroom I’ve ever seen. The way all the water fixtures are so spread out must have been a nightmare for the plumbers who built it,” she said. “Who lived here before you?”

“That was a long time ago, Molly – almost fifteen years,” he said. “What does it matter?” She just lifted her brows. “A rather well-known actor and his partner. Why?”

“This just doesn’t look like _you_ at all, or what I think I know about you,” she said.

Mycroft sighed. “No, and I did intend to refurbish it soon after I moved in – to take most of it to bare walls and start over - but with my work … well. Even if the bathroom is not to my taste, it does have everything I need – just a lot that I don’t need as well.”

Molly laughed. “I’m actually happy to know you’re not always super-efficient at getting everything done. You can procrastinate like everyone else on low priority matters.” She ignored his grimace and moved to the tub to study it more closely. “Despite how oddly positioned the tub is, it looks fantastic. I can do without the whirlpool, but I wish mine was this deep.” Molly smiled at Mycroft over her shoulder, then led the way back to his bedroom.

As they passed through the dressing room, Mycroft briefly stopped to reach into the dark space under his suits before following her. “Would you like to give this a test run?”

Molly had been staring at the bed again and blushed as she turned around. “Uh, I, um,” she faltered, then saw what he was carrying and laughed. “Certainly,” she said and bent to untie her shoes while he placed the set of mahogany steps beside the bed. She kicked off her trainers, then ran lightly up the two steps to stand on the mattress, bouncing in place a couple of times – _“Mmm,_ magnificently springy, just like you said” - before dropping to sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed. “I’m not _that_ short,” she went on, somewhat indignantly, “but the steps work fine.”

“Yes, they do,” he said, easily crawling over the end of the bed and wrestling Molly onto her back. “And got you just where I wanted you.” She laughed and wriggled when he nuzzled her neck, but then her breath caught and her body stilled when he slid his hands through her hair, tilted her head back and met her eyes.

And just that quickly the light-hearted atmosphere in the room changed entirely.

Mycroft lowered his mouth to the base of Molly’s throat and ran his lips up its length and over her chin before lifting his head to study her, those steely blue eyes gleaming beneath half-lowered lids. His eyes held hers as he shifted to cradle the sides of her neck in his palms, brushing his thumbs along her jawline until her eyes drifted closed and he lowered his head to kiss her. When Molly’s lips parted, his tongue slipped between them, and she clutched at his back, pressing closer as she briefly sucked on his tongue, then swirled the tip of hers around his and slid deeper, deliberately thrusting once, twice, before slowly withdrawing. He tilted his head and then sent his tongue after hers, brushing along the edge of her teeth and tickling the roof of her mouth until she shivered.

Mycroft lifted his head and pushed up onto his knees, reaching for the button of her jeans. “May I?” Molly nodded and sucked her stomach in as he gripped her waistband and slowly lowered the zipper. When he met her eyes and arched a brow, Molly lifted her bottom and let him tug the jeans over her hips and down her legs, biting her lip when she realized he’d taken her knickers with them. He folded both garments carefully and set them on the far side of the bed, then turned back to her, pursing his lips while he looked at her socks. Molly felt her cheeks heat as she imagined how unsophisticated she must appear to him in her pink jumper and brighter pink knee socks - and what a stark contrast she must be providing to any memories he had of other more worldly women who’d been in his bed. The warmth spread from her face to her chest when his eyes moved up her body and met hers. “Nice socks,” he observed soberly, but his lips curved when Molly wrinkled her nose at him.

Mycroft stretched out alongside her, propping himself on his elbow, and leaned over to give her a brief kiss. He lifted his head and stared at her for several moments while his eyes wandered over her face, then he kissed her again before shifting lower on the bed. He glanced up and gave her a reassuring smile. “Just relax, my dear.” When her muscles immediately tightened, stomach clenching, thighs pressing together, he huffed a laugh. “ _Molly ...”_

He waited until she presented some semblance of a relaxed state, then he slowly pushed the hem of her jumper higher and bent to kiss her midriff … her belly … and then he shifted lower and paused for a moment … before wrapping his hands around her thighs and lifting them up and outward, spreading her wide open before him, leaving her nothing to hide behind. Molly blushed and squirmed until he gripped her thighs more firmly to hold her still while he studied her … and she felt overwhelmed by the rush of blood to her core, leaving her feeling hot and swollen and pulsing … and suddenly desperate with desire for the weight of him on her, the pressure of him in her. Then he settled himself more comfortably between her thighs and lowered his head and licked her … working his tongue between her wet folds, laving her slowly, probing more deeply, nudging her with his nose … and Molly drew a sharp breath and slid the fingers of both hands through his hair to cup his head in her palms, to hold him against her … to hold on. The light stubble on his cheeks occasionally rubbed against the tender skin of her inner thighs and created another focal point of sensation. She tilted her head back hard against the pillow, moaning loudly as she arched her hips higher and pressed into the caress of his tongue, flushing hotter on hearing the moist sounds of him pleasuring her and her breathless entreaties that he _please_ … _oh please._ She felt engorged and aching … and groaned raggedly when he used his thumbs to open her further and ran his tongue in a firm caress up the cleft between her thighs and drew her between his lips, first sucking strongly then flicking her with his tongue at the same time that he curved his middle finger deeply into her and then a second one, thrusting and rubbing against her swollen flesh, circling and tapping … and the pressure built and built, the warmth blooming and spreading … and Molly clenched her muscles in sudden panic, fearful of losing control … then Mycroft was murmuring softly to her, calming her and encouraging her again to _relax_ and _let go_ … and he kept on and on until Molly cried out and came hard and fast and with a rush of moisture, her body convulsing, muscles quivering, warm waves of sensation spreading through her … then she gave another shuddering cry as a second orgasm rocked through her when he withdrew his fingers and dragged them up her cleft and rubbed their pads against her in a deep, circular motion. She moaned his name and turned her head aside, breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut, suddenly embarrassed at the noises she’d made and the wet spot she could feel forming under her. And then Mycroft was there, braced over her, taking hold of her chin between thumb and forefinger - studying her face, she imagined from behind closed eyes - and then his lips claimed hers and she could taste herself on him and felt herself flush even as her mouth opened and he kissed her hungrily and she kissed him back breathlessly and wondered what the hell had got into him. If that was how he reacted just from being with her in his own bedroom … _good god._ Then she abandoned herself to the full intoxication of his kisses, encircled him with her arms and legs, and stopped thinking for a while ... until she finally slid her palm from his upper back to his chest, worked her fingers between them, then dragged them over his stomach and lower to mold her hand around his erection – a move that he acknowledged with a grunt and by pressing his cock more firmly into her palm.

And his mobile suddenly buzzed insistently on the bedside cabinet. _Oh fuck._

Mycroft raised himself onto his elbows, staring fixedly at Molly just as she realized she’d spoken aloud, then he blinked owlishly once, twice, and that quickly he was back to himself, pressing his lips together as he reached for the phone. He took a deep breath and shifted off of her to sit on the side of the bed, leaving Molly panting and staring at his back. He slowly released the breath and rose to his feet, phone at his ear as he walked toward the far windows.

~~~~~

Molly studied Mycroft in the vanity’s mirror as he held the warm flannel to his face and met her gaze over it. She broke eye contact and wrapped his dressing gown more closely around her before hitching herself onto the counter beside the basin. She watched intently as he applied shaving cream to his cheeks and throat with a brush, then picked up his razor. He paused and arched a brow at her. “You really want to watch me shave?”

“Hmm,” Molly hummed, inhaling the soft scent of sandalwood.

Mycroft raised his left hand to pull his skin tight as he drew the razor down his cheek, frowning at his reflection in the mirror before shifting his eyes her way. “I’ll likely be gone for several hours. Do you want Simon to take you home?”

“Do you mind if I stay?”

He swirled the razor in the water, then tapped it against the side of the basin before lifting the razor again and leaving another clean stripe in its wake. “Not at all,” he said, then briskly but methodically finished removing all traces of stubble. He eventually ran his hand over his face to check for any missed patches.

“Let me see,” Molly said, then ran her fingertips along his jaw when he bent toward her. _“Ooooh,_ smooth,” she murmured as she slid her hand around the back of his neck. Mycroft gave in to her urging and bent lower. “You smell delicious,” she whispered when their lips parted a few moments later.

“If you don’t stop, my cold shower will have been in vain,” he said gruffly. When Molly sat back, he bent over the basin, rinsed his face with cool water, then patted it dry before applying a shaving balm with … Molly picked it up to read the label … _aloe and tea tree oil._ “I need to get ready for work, my dear,” he said mildly, “and your presence in the dressing room would not be helpful.”

“Go on then,” she said, waving her hand. “I’m not going to distract you.” Her eyes did follow Mycroft as he walked barefooted across the bathroom and through the door, and she spent a few moments imagining him dropping the towel. She then hopped off the counter with a sigh and went through the archway to the loo.

A few minutes later, Molly slowly headed toward the dressing room, then paused. “Are you decent?”

“I’m _always_ decent,” he called back in a muffled voice.

“Yeah, ha-ha,” she said as she came through the door. Mycroft’s head was lowered as he tied his shoes. “That was quick.”

“It’s a gift,” he quipped as he rose to his feet from the bench. He unbuttoned his trousers to re-tuck the back of his shirt, then refastened them and shifted in front of the mirror to adjust the knot in his tie. Molly’s eyes followed his hands as he clipped the watch chain to his waistcoat and tucked the pocket watch away, then shrugged into his jacket. “If you decide you want to leave, call Simon,” he said. “I’ll text you his number.”

“I don’t think I’ll need it,” she said, following him into the bedroom and watching as he smoothed his hair at the mirror over the chest of drawers. “I don’t have any plans and Toby will be fine until this evening.”

“There’s plenty of fresh food and some good leftovers in the refrigerator and there’s bread and I think half of a cake in the larder,” he said, turning to her with a frown. “We didn’t make it to the kitchen, but it’s –”

“Mycroft, you need to leave. Just tell me where I’m _not_ supposed to go in the areas I haven’t seen.”

“You can look around all you want on the first and ground floors – the kitchen’s on the ground floor, by the way. Mrs. Bell’s flat in the basement is obviously off limits - although it’s probably locked anyway – and I’d prefer that you not explore lower than the ground floor.”

Molly knew the garage and the housekeeper’s flat were on the basement level, and her eyes widened at the thought that there might be even more space somewhere. “Why - what else is down there?”

Mycroft huffed a laugh. “I’ll show you later.” He bent to give her a brief kiss. “If you’re seeing me out, come on. I have to go.” He suddenly noticed her bare feet. “Don’t you need your shoes?”

Molly considered the visual impact of her flowered trainers peeking out from below the hem of his paisley robe swishing around her ankles and quickly shook her head. “Your floor is surprisingly warm.”

“Radiant heating,” he said, urging her out of the room with a hand against her back.

Molly leaned her head against his arm as the lift started down. “Is there really nowhere else you want me to keep out of? What about your office – or study?”

He glanced down at the crown of her head and had to suppress a sudden urge to laugh. “Do you intend to rifle through my desk drawers?”

Her head snapped back as she stared up at him. “Of course not!”

“Then feel free,” he said lightly and waited for her to proceed him out the door as the lift drew to a stop at basement level. “One thing though … you can’t leave the house without getting locked out.”

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted, then lifted her face toward him. “Thank you for trusting me with your home,” she added after he gave her a quick kiss. She didn’t wait to watch Mycroft leave since she didn’t want Simon to see her in a dressing gown, particularly one that kept slipping off her bare shoulders and was obviously not hers.

Molly got back into the lift, pressed the button for the ground floor, and rewrapped the dressing gown around her before tightening the belt. She suddenly let loose with a burst of delighted laughter at finding herself there and wearing _that_ … and with excitement from being left on her own to explore Mycroft’s home to her heart’s content.


	2. Going Deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mycroft begins to make room for Molly in his life ..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Images relate to story details ..._
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“Mr. Holmes?”

Molly Hooper dropped her roast beef sandwich, caught the wine bottle she’d almost knocked off the table, and jumped to her feet, hastily adjusting the dressing gown over her shoulders before tightening the belt. She was blushing, covering one bare foot with the other, and unconsciously twisting her hands in front of her when the compact, grey-haired, sixty-ish woman she could only assume was Mrs. Bell walked into the kitchen and came to an abrupt stop. Molly wasn’t sure which one of them was more surprised. “Hello,” she said tentatively, then quickly moved to the kitchen island to switch off the radio, which she suddenly realized might belong to the other woman ...

… who continued to gape at Molly in the ensuing silence, then visibly rallied and assumed a more neutral expression. “Good afternoon,” she said formally. “I’m Mrs. Bell, Mr. Holmes’ housekeeper.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Bell,” Molly said and bit her lip, fighting an ill-timed urge to giggle, then cleared her throat. “I’m Molly Hooper.” When the housekeeper continued looking at her, Molly hurriedly added, “A friend of Mr. Holmes.”

Mrs. Bell’s eyes looked past Molly to the kitchen table. “I’m sorry for interrupting your lunch, Miss Hooper, but I heard the music and thought it was Mr. Holmes.”

“If you thought it was Mycroft listening to Radio 1, it’s no wonder you decided to investigate,” Molly blurted. “You probably thought he’d lost his mind!” Molly’s grin faded when the housekeeper’s gaze shifted back to her without a change of expression. _Don’t tell jokes, Molly._

Mrs. Bell finally smiled. “It would certainly be unlike him,” she said, then glanced around the kitchen. “Is there anything I can help you with before I go, Miss Hooper?”

“No, but thank you, Mrs. Bell,” Molly said, feeling a bit awkward since the kitchen was really the other woman’s domain. “Was there something you needed to do here? You don’t have to leave on my behalf.”

“Not at all,” she said. “The sound of the music carried down the stairwell and I heard it when I came in from the garage.” She gave Molly a pleasant smile. “If you have everything you need, I’ll get back to my flat now.”

“Do you want to see Mycroft when he comes in? Should I tell him –”

“Thank you, Miss Hooper, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll see Mr. Holmes in the morning.” She nodded once, then turned and left the kitchen.

When Molly heard the stairwell door close, she went back to the table, dropped onto her chair and released a long breath. After a few moments, she glanced down and saw the belt had loosened again, exposing most of her upper chest but luckily not her breasts. _Great,_ she thought. _What a wonderful first impression._

She sighed when she looked at the remains of her sandwich and reached instead for the Cabernet Sauvignon. Ten minutes recovery time and a second glass of wine made her feel much better ... until she glanced at the clock.

Molly had already explored the ground floor – Mycroft’s study, a small sitting room across from it, a cloakroom, the kitchen and eating area, and an anteroom with dumbwaiter and the continuation of the more utilitarian concrete staircase from the basement – as much as she wanted without Mycroft’s presence. She headed for the spiral staircase and wasn’t surprised when one floor up the stairs opened onto more glossy oak floors, richly painted walls and plush wool rugs in traditional floral patterns. A large, sunlit sitting room at the front of the house had two deeply cushioned sofas facing each other across a large mahogany coffee table alongside the fireplace. She could imagine how cozy it would appear with the fire blazing and didn’t understand why Mycroft had implied that his home wasn’t cozy in comparison with her flat. Perhaps he’d meant “cozy” size-wise, which was certainly true.

The other side of the sitting room had another furniture grouping with sofa, chairs and coffee table. A dining room at the back of the house was also sunlit from two large windows. The dining table had seating for twelve, and a large china cabinet and sideboard stored an impressive selection of china, cutlery, glassware and table linens. As in the kitchen, access to the dumbwaiter was through a small room to the side, which was also where the concrete stairwell ended. The connecting space between the front and back rooms – the landing area - was left open other than a floor to ceiling bookcase and large mahogany cupboard.

Twenty minutes later, Molly was soaking in Mycroft’s tub … thinking about Mycroft and what she’d like to do to and with him in his very large, very comfortable looking bed.

Molly had always liked sex, or at least its _potential_ , despite the reality being a disappointment more often than not ever since that first fumbling effort – an experience that had been embarrassing from start to (very premature) finish. With Mycroft though, its potential had not only been realized time and time again, but its possibilities … her _fantasies_ … had most definitely expanded. Molly had learned more about the joys of sex in the past four and a half months, and the pleasure her body was capable of, than she’d learned in all the preceding years combined.

She’d had a week to entertain a relatively mild fantasy that had leapt to mind when he mentioned the height of his bed, and it had become even more vivid upon seeing the four-poster. To make fantasy reality simply required that she take charge with the hope that Mycroft would follow her lead. So far, he’d proven to be a willing participant during their sexual encounters – highly enthusiastic, in fact – and Molly had no cause to think this time would be any different.

~~~~~

Mycroft Holmes was not a man given to introspection. He therefore didn’t analyze his _feelings_ – the word alone could evoke a shudder - regarding the singular experience of knowing someone was waiting for him at home. 

However, as Mycroft crossed the pavement and got into the waiting car, he smiled to himself at the thought of seeing Molly again so soon.

~ ~

When Mycroft arrived home at half past three, he took the lift to the first floor, checked the sitting room, then took the stairs to the second floor – two at a time was nothing for his long legs - and went through the open door of his bedroom and stopped a few feet from the sofa, studying Molly’s sleeping form for a few moments before moving closer. She’d pulled his throw over her legs, but her upper chest and a nipple were exposed where his burgundy dressing gown had slipped off her shoulder. Since she’d switched from the paisley one, he assumed she’d had a bath and decided to read for a while since one of his mother’s detective books had slipped between Molly’s hip and the back of the sofa.

Mycroft cleared a spot on the coffee table, then hitched up the knees of his trousers before lowering himself to its edge. Molly’s mouth had relaxed in sleep, leaving her lips slightly parted as she breathed softly and evenly. He bent toward her, intending to call her name, but at the last moment instead lightly touched his lips to hers _. To wake a sleeping beauty with a kiss … wasn’t that the preferred method in fairy tales?_ Although Molly, with her occasionally macabre sense of humor, more likely preferred the original, darker versions of certain stories, he thought – the way they were before Disney got hold of them.

Molly’s eyelids fluttered open as he sat back and smiled at her, and the thought occurred that he’d have to dispatch anyone else who saw him make such a mawkishly sentimental gesture. Mycroft Holmes was _not_ a romantic man.

“Hello,” she said huskily, then cleared her throat.

“Hello, my dear,” he said lightly. “I hope you haven’t been bored.”

“Not at all, but I’m happy that you’re back,” she said, then hid a yawn behind her hand. “Sorry.”

“What have you been doing while I was gone?’

“Wandered around the other two floors, listened to music, made a sandwich, had a bath, read a while, fell asleep … typical Sunday laziness,” she said. “Oh – I also hit the redial on the phone on your desk and had a short, but exciting, conversation with someone at the Kremlin who seemed to expect you to be on the other end of the line.”

“Yes … very amusing,” he said, with a twist of his lips.

“Well, I _did_ sit in your chair and prop my bare feet on your desk for a while,” she said, “in case your security team finds any unusual prints on their next sweep.”

“I’m glad you weren’t bored,” he said drily, then reached out and deliberately brushed the backs of his fingers over her right breast while adjusting his dressing gown to cover her. “You had a bit of a clothing malfunction there.” The color had risen in Molly’s cheeks, but she gamely met his amused gaze as he rose to his feet. “I should get changed,” he said. “There’s something I want to show you –” He broke off and glanced down at the hand she’d slipped between his knees, then met her eyes again as her hand started sliding up the inside of his thighs.

Molly shifted to drop her feet to the floor and stood, letting her hand trail over the front of his trousers, and suppressed her satisfaction when he exhibited definite signs of being interested. “Can whatever it is wait?”

“Why - what did you have in mind?”

 _Oh, yes,_ she thought. There was a definite gleam in Mycroft’s eyes. “We’ll need to go in there,” she said vaguely, waving a hand toward the dressing room.

He simply stepped back in response to give her room to pass. “After you.”

Molly led the way across the room, then stopped in front of the chest of drawers and turned to face him. “I just need to …,” she murmured, sliding her hands up his chest and under his lapels to push his suit jacket off his shoulders. “Here - let me …” She took the jacket from him and headed to his dressing room, tossing a “wait there” over her shoulder. Once she’d carefully arranged the jacket on his clothes valet, she took a deep breath and slowly released it, then pivoted and returned to the bedroom where her gaze fleetingly met his before dropping to his waistcoat. She very deliberately unclipped the watch chain, removed his pocket watch and placed them in the valet tray before raising her eyes to meet his in the mirror.

Molly’s color rose as they stared at each other in silence. She finally turned away to walk to the bed and spoke without looking at him. “You mentioned how tall your bed is and I thought maybe you wanted …” She hesitated a moment, biting her lip, then turned back to look at Mycroft, who hadn’t moved from where she’d told him to stand. _Keep going, Molly._ “I thought you might like to take advantage of it.” She undid the belt of the dressing gown, then shrugged her shoulders and let it slide down her arms to the floor. She held his gaze until the last moment as she bent over the side of the bed to lie on her stomach, arms spread overhead, face turned away from him. She felt her blush spread from her face downward while she waited for his reaction and imagined how she looked offering herself to him like that. Her bottom probably looked as wide as -

And then Mycroft’s clothes brushed against her calves ... her inner thighs ... her bottom ... his hand pressed flat against the mattress near her face, and she held her breath so that all she could hear was the sound of _his._ Molly finally felt him exhale against her nape and she trembled when he kissed her shoulder, then he was kissing her spine, tracing its line down her body until he pressed soft kisses on the dimples below her waist … and then he seemed to pull away from her.

Molly tensed in the sudden stillness, wondering what Mycroft would do next ... and then he’d dropped to his knees and his hands were between her thighs, gently urging them apart as he placed a kiss on one smooth buttock and then the other ... and he was lifting her, hands spreading her, canting her hips higher, and she trembled again, gasping when she felt the nudge of his nose, the touch of his tongue working its way between her wet folds, probing deeper. Molly moaned, pressing her flushed cheek harder against the silky bed covering and her even hotter core more firmly against his face, and she thought with wonder that he’d already shattered her fantasy by taking it beyond what she’d imagined … and then she stopped thinking and focused solely on the feel of his mouth on her, his tongue in her, the pads of his fingers pressing against her flesh where he held her in place ... until he lowered her hips, letting her body rest fully against the bed, and she felt his clothes brush against her as he rose to his feet.

They still said nothing and the silence between them became more tense, and then Molly heard the faint sound of Mycroft’s zipper and a quiver ran through her, and she was waiting … waiting … and then his hands were on her again, carefully positioning her. Molly roughly groaned his name as his fingers gently separated her folds and were replaced by that first careful prod, that exquisite ache of her flesh stretching to accommodate him … and his cock was sliding smoothly into her and then deeper still until his pelvis was pressed firmly against the curve of her bottom. Her flesh was so sensitive she could feel the fine wool of his trousers and a tiny, momentary pinch as the rough-edged coolness of his zipper was caught between them.

Mycroft held himself within her for a moment, two ... then Molly heard him draw a shuddery breath and the weight against her lessened and she felt the gliding drag as his hot length withdrew, and the sudden coolness of the room’s air slipped between them and made Molly shiver. A moment of suspense, then Mycroft thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt, and then the gliding retreat again, and once more slowly, and he finally broke the silence with a gruff inquiry - “All right?” - and she sighed in agreement, _“Yeesssss”_ … and just as she opened her mouth to urge him on faster, he gripped her hips more firmly and drove his cock into her, and then again, and a loud, long moan broke from Molly at the blissful friction, the force of the push inward, the drag of the slower withdrawal, over and over, and she felt the pressure building and building … and then Mycroft abruptly pulled out of her and his hands were gone and the cool air again washed over her bare skin as she cried out in protest …

… but then he was there, leaning over her, slipping his hands under her, gently turning her onto her back, shifting her farther onto the bed, lifting her knees up and outward until the soles of her feet were against the mattress … and then she was staring into his eyes, so close as he leaned over her, both of them panting and trying to catch their breath, and Mycroft clamped his lips against Molly’s ... so soft and yielding ... for a moment, two. He pulled away with a gasp - had it been his? hers? - and his eyes moved down her body, pausing at her breasts before moving lower. A wave of heat flooded her body and she flushed almost painfully at the sight of him looming over her, standing there between her trembling thighs … his white shirt still crisp, the knot of his blue silk tie still pressed tidily against the base of his throat, his chest rapidly rising and falling beneath the light grey waistcoat that was still neatly buttoned.

Molly lifted her head and quickly dropped it again, aroused beyond measure at the sight of his disarranged trousers, sagging open at the waist, the fly loosely bunched beneath the hard jut of his cock, its tip glistening with moisture, and she couldn’t stand to wait any longer. “ _Please,_ Mycroft – _now,”_ she ground out, holding his eyes as she slid her hands over her ribs and cupped her breasts, lifting them and pressing her palms hard against them, and his eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened and his nostrils flared as he drew a sudden breath. He quickly gripped her hips and shifted her bottom closer to the edge of the bed, then ran his thumb up her cleft and pressed against her as his fingers carefully separated her folds and his free hand positioned the tip of his cock just within her. He rested there for a moment, his breathing quick and shallow ... then his hands slid around her knees and lifted her feet over his forearms as he leaned over her, bracing his hands against the bed, and the backs of her knees came to rest in the crook of his elbows. He bent lower to kiss her, swallowing her moan as he smoothly penetrated her slick, swollen flesh until he could go no further. His pelvis ground against hers and he shifted in place against her, slowly rubbing and circling, rubbing and circling, and then he straightened, letting her knees slide down his arms until he grasped them in his hands. Her eyes briefly met his, then dropped to his hands, and lower still … and she flushed and closed her eyes and turned her head aside.

“Molly,” he said, then repeated it more insistently. _“Molly_ … look at me.” And her head slowly turned and she looked straight at him, lips parted as her breathing deepened. Something seemed to leap in Mycroft’s chest, and he held her eyes as he drove into her more roughly than he intended, and Molly’s head tilted back harder against the bed as her lips parted on a long, low moan, but her eyes continued to hold his and Mycroft stared back unwaveringly, hips flexing and releasing as he continued thrusting hard and fast and deep, sweat beading on his brow. Then Molly suddenly cried out, “I _can’t –”_ … and Mycroft broke rhythm and slammed into her, lowering her left foot to the bed before dropping his hand to her cleft, rubbing the taut skin where she stretched around him, dragging his thumb against her, pressing and circling, pressing and circling, then pinching her flesh between his thumb and forefinger, tugging and rolling, as he surged into her and retreated, in and out, surge and retreat. Molly’s hands slid off her breasts to clutch at the bedcovers, twisting the duvet between her fingers, holding on as Mycroft drove into her ... and then she came apart with a gasping sob, feeling tears of release slipping down her temples, her core contracting, pulsing, as waves of pleasure flowed through her, leaving her muscles trembling, her breasts heaving, her harsh breaths sounding loud in her ears. Her body bore down, clenching around him, and his cock seemed to swell further as he continued to slide back and forth, thrusting and withdrawing, dragging his hard flesh through the hot, wet, pulsating grip of her body. And Mycroft stiffened, flinging his head back with a shout of pleasure, then he groaned roughly, hips jerking as he erupted, his cock pulsing within her, and Molly felt the spreading warmth of his release as he came deep inside of her.

~ ~

Mycroft carefully lowered himself onto Molly, knowing how much she liked to feel him pressing her into the mattress, but kept most of his weight on his hands despite the almost overwhelming tiredness he felt. She shifted her hips and slid her feet along his sides until she hooked her ankles over his calves. Her hands gripped the sides of his trousers, then smoothed over the back of his waistcoat and flattened against his shoulder blades. “Relax, Mycroft,” she breathed, urging him down onto her. “I want to feel your full weight on me.” A quiver ran through his muscles, then he let himself collapse the rest of the way onto her and pressed his face into the crook of her neck, murmuring his appreciation against her throat.

Molly drew a deep breath and slowly released it, relishing the slide of her nipples against his waistcoat, the firm press of his body along her torso, the smooth texture of his trousers under the soles of her feet, the heat of his breath on her neck, the throb of his heartbeat keeping time with hers.

Molly felt overwhelmed by Mycroft and was more than satisfied … she was _elated._

~~~~~

They were finally ready to move again, and Mycroft made a quick trip to the bathroom, returning with warm flannels for Molly – one wet, one dry - before going to his dressing room to remove the rest of his clothes. She sat up when he came back into the bedroom, bracing herself on a straightened arm and curling her legs to the side. She watched as he crossed to the bed, stretched out beside her, and looked at her with raised brows as he folded an arm under his head. “What?”

Molly shook her head silently and shifted closer, sitting on her calves as she placed her palms on his belly. He murmured her name disapprovingly, then sighed wearily, and her lips curved in amusement and she shook her head again, chidingly. _“Shhh_ … I just want to –” She broke off as she smoothed her palms up his chest, running her fingers through his chest hair, separating a few curls, catching hairs between her fingers and tugging teasingly before her hands moved further up his chest and her palms curved around the base of his neck, then slid to his shoulders, cupping them and rubbing her thumbs over his clavicles and sliding lower to brush her fingers over his nipples. She finally bent over him and pressed a kiss to the center of his chest, then raised her head and met his eyes before giving him a slow smile. “As wonderful as all of that was,” she said, tilting her head toward the side of the bed, “I missed touching your skin.”

When he returned her smile, she sighed contentedly and stretched out on her side, drawing her knees toward her chest and arching her back as he rolled over to fit himself to her curves and slid his arm around her waist. “Nap?”

 _“Mmm,”_ she agreed lazily, shivering as he slowly brushed the tips of his fingers along her forearm. He nudged her hair aside with his chin and kissed the back of her neck before resting his head on his pillow.

“Mycroft …”

“Hmm?”

“I met Mrs. Bell today.”

His fingers paused for a moment, then continued stroking her arm. “Yes?”

Molly turned her head to speak over her shoulder. “She heard the radio playing in the kitchen when she got home and came up to investigate.” She huffed a laugh. “I was listening to Radio One – rather loudly, I admit – and I’m sure she thought you’d snapped and gone completely bonkers.”

“Or she guessed that I had a guest.”

“Really? You think she knew it wasn’t you?”

Mycroft snorted. “I can assure you she’s never heard me playing Radio One.”

“So Mrs. Bell is a bit, uh, curious?”

“Nosy would be more accurate, but it’s usually come in handy when she’s noticed something unusual in the vicinity,” he said.

Molly covered the back of his hand with hers. “I was still wearing your dressing gown,” she said quietly.

“And?”

“Will she tell people?”

“No, she may share information about other people with me, but she knows being discreet about anything to do with me is a crucial part of her job,” he said. “As far as I know she’s remained so during almost ten years here.” He paused for a moment, then added, “And I would know otherwise.”

There was something in his voice that made Molly shiver. She let go of his hand and shifted to nestle her head more comfortably against the pillow … then shivered again when Mycroft’s fingertips brushed against her arm. They lay quietly for a while, drifting toward sleep, and he continued to brush his fingers over her arm from time to time – likely unconsciously, she thought drowsily.

Mycroft suddenly tensed and flattened his hand against her stomach. “No, not a nap.” He pulled his arm free, then sat up and shifted to the side of the bed. Molly twisted to look at him just as he glanced over his shoulder. “I want to show you something.”

“What?” Molly didn’t want to go anywhere.

“Come on, my dear,” he coaxed. “You’ll be glad that I got you up.”

She tried not to whine. “Do I have to get dressed?”

“Yes,” he said, then arched a brow. “Mrs. Bell?”

~~~~~

Molly had made herself act cheerful as she dressed in her jumper and jeans and sat to tie her shoes before following Mycroft – in jeans, no less - to the lift. Her enthusiasm became real, however, when he pressed the button below the one to the basement. _SB._ There was a _sub-_ basement?

~~~~~

Mycroft pulled the heavy wood and glass door open, then stepped back for Molly to enter first. As the door closed behind them and the sound of the loud thud bounced off the tiled walls, Molly stayed frozen in place, staring in amazement … and quickly realized she had a choice – to be intimidated or to be excited by the surprise. After a few moments, she chose the latter.

 _“Wow,_ Mycroft … this is incredible!” She hurried forward and dropped to her knees. “Is it –” she glanced over her shoulder while stretching her hand low. “Oh _god_ – the temperature’s _perfect!”_ Mycroft came to stand over Molly as she shook the water off her hand then wiped it against her jeans. “And you said you _sometimes_ swim,” she said wonderingly, studying the glass mosaic tiles of the pool’s walls and floor in varying shades of pale and dark blues. The mixed colors seemed to sparkle under the LED lighting and combined with the sand-colored hue of the decking’s anti-slip tiles and the surround’s smoother versions brought to mind a tropical beach. Molly looked up with a delighted smile. “I don’t know how you stay away. I’d be in here every day.”

“You think that now, but …” He shook his head.

Molly stood up and walked toward the far end of the long, relatively narrow room, truly amazed that the recessed lights in the pool and the cedar plank ceiling and those mounted on the walls created a warm, inviting environment and not the harsh, sterile one she’d have expected with the lack of any natural lighting. The pool was obviously intended for serious lap swimming, being close to twenty meters in length, but only about four meters wide. The pool room’s only accessories were the conventional, three-tread stainless steel ladders at either end of the pool and scattered chairs, which looked like wicker at first glance, but were actually made of a synthetic material. “I know the pump has to run, but what are the other noises?”

“Air handling units,” he said. “The real challenge with an indoor pool, especially a subterranean one, is keeping the room properly ventilated and dehumidified. For example, that heat retention cover,” he said, pointing, “helps to minimize evaporation.”

“Not very glamorous,” she said, looking around the room again and this time paying attention to all the vents she’d ignored.

“And we haven’t talked about vapor barriers,” he said wryly.

Molly smiled. “I get your point. Owning a swimming pool is more of a headache than I thought.”

“Only when the monthly service bill comes in.” Mycroft slid his hands into his pockets and strolled along the pool to meet her. “Would you like to have a swim now?”

“I don’t have a suit,” she said, frowning at him under her brows.

“Do you need one?” Mycroft asked, holding her eyes, then slowly smiled when Molly blushed. “Come with me,” he said, offering her his hand.

“Where?”

“Just here,” he said, lifting his chin at a door set farther along the wall from the entrance and which she’d passed without notice when they came in. He opened it and flipped on the overhead light, revealing a dressing room with two draped cubicles and plain benches set along two walls with a wide, locker-style cabinet in the corner between them. He opened another door to a sink, toilet and shower, then picked up a carrier bag from one of the benches and handed it to her. “See if that works.”

Molly ran her fingers over the familiar logo, then opened the bag and pulled out a one-piece, coral swimming costume. A quick check of the label confirmed it was her size. Not only that, it was the simple tank style she preferred, but had a bit of shirring on the sides to soften the lines. _Mycroft saw far too much,_ she thought. “Thank you,” she said, looking up at him. “What about you?”

“My suit’s there,” he said, pointing to the cabinet.

“So, um,” she said, then was embarrassed when her cheeks flushed, knowing it was absurd to feel shy when he’d seen her naked just a little while before. Mycroft stepped aside without comment and she brushed past him and hurried into a changing cubicle and pulled the curtain closed.

The swimsuit fitted perfectly, of course. _It wouldn’t dare do otherwise,_ she thought, smiling at herself in the mirror, then her brows knitted when she considered all the bare skin she was showing. She made herself leave the cubicle and pushed through the outer door, then stopped in her tracks when she saw Mycroft standing just outside, wearing a pair of plain, navy swim shorts and holding two towels. Staring at his bare back and legs, she wondered why they both seemed to be more naked wearing swimsuits than when they were actually nude. He turned to look at her and she felt her nipples tighten when he ran his eyes down her body and back up again.

“It fits then,” he said, smiling as he held a towel out to her.

“Perfectly,” she agreed. “You have a good eye.”

“What about your hair? There was a swimming cap in the bag.”

Molly had delayed donning the silicone cap in a sudden burst of vanity. “I have it here,” she said. “You thought of everything.” Mycroft gestured toward the pool and she trailed behind him as he tossed his towel over a nearby chair before lowering himself to the edge and dropping into the pool. The water hit him almost mid-chest so had to be more than four feet deep. Molly tossed her towel after Mycroft’s, then quickly braided her hair and pulled the cap over her head, tucking in loose strands as she walked to the pool, smiled at him … and suddenly jumped in with a loud _“whoop!”_

Mycroft rolled his eyes when she surfaced next to him and wiped the water off her face. “Remind me, Molly – how old are you?”

“You’re only young once, but you can stay immature indefinitely,” Molly quoted soberly. “Race you!” She pushed off the side with her toes and crawled down the pool as quickly as she could, then grabbed the pool’s edge and turned back to look for Mycroft … who was standing beside her, not even breathing heavily. “Damn it, Mycroft! Your height and long arms give you an unfair advantage.”

“Racing wasn’t my idea,” he said, deadpan, before turning to lean against the edge of the pool and regarding its long length. “What’s your favorite swimming stroke?”

“Backstroke.”

“Go on then.”

Molly eyed him suspiciously, then pushed away from the side and started down the pool. Mycroft swam alongside her, adapting his stroke to her slower one. Molly stopped at the other end and brushed the water off her face. “You don’t have to wait for me,” she said. “You go your pace, and I’ll go mine.”

Mycroft studied her expression for a moment, then nodded when she smiled. “All right.”

Molly took off again, enjoying the stretch of her limbs as she focused on reaching into each stroke and pulling herself through the water as efficiently as possible. She turned her head from time to time to watch Mycroft as he moved steadily up and down the pool, never seeming to waver in his deliberate pace. He was swimming about three lengths for every two of hers, but there were times when they were swimming alongside each other. She didn’t know how long they’d been in the pool when he finally stopped and waited for her.

“Have you had enough?”

“Could we just float around for a while?” Molly frowned when Mycroft lifted his brows. “Don’t you ever lie on your back and let your body drift wherever the water takes you?” When his brow creased, Molly grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

They’d been floating quietly for some time, still holding hands, when Mycroft broke their companionable silence. “I’ve been considering what you said last week about our relationship,” he said idly.

“You _have?”_

“ _Mmm_ … and two thoughts occurred. First,” he said, “there’s an upcoming event where having someone with me could be advantageous.”

Molly spluttered a bit after water rushed into her open mouth, then pushed her feet toward the pool bottom and struggled to a stand. She wasn’t sure what he meant by “advantageous” but focused on the primary issue. “Are you asking me on an actual _date?”_

Mycroft stood as well, lips pursed as he studied her expression. “To attend a work-related event with me,” he clarified after a few moments. “But if you’d like to think of it as a date, so be it.”

“I’d be your plus-one?”

He grimaced at the term. “My guest, yes.”

“What’s –” Molly shifted closer and suddenly lifted her hands out of the water to grab hold of his upper arms when her foot slipped. Once she regained her balance, she continued gamely. “What’s the event?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Come here, little one _,_ before you drown,” he said, taking hold of her waist and lifting her higher out of the water. When Molly wrapped her arms and legs around him, he waded to the side of the pool and sat her on its edge. “A dinner at the American Embassy.”

“I think I’d like that.” Molly ignored a sudden flutter of nerves and lifted a hand to brush some water drops off his forehead. “What’s the potential advantage for you if I were there?”

“Certain parties would be so discombobulated by my being accompanied for once that they may drop their guard,” he said.

_“What?”_

“It’s an American term for being so confused you don’t know which way is up,” he said drily.

Molly snorted. “I’ve heard of the word, Mycroft … I was just shocked to hear _you_ use it.” She wrinkled her nose at him, then leaned forward and rested her forearms on his shoulders. “So, what was your _second_ thought?”

Mycroft braced his hands against the pool’s edge on either side of her hips and raised his brows. “After what Sherlock did, I believe you and my parents should have a chance to meet each other properly.”

And just that quickly Molly’s butterflies were back, wings fluttering frantically. _Oh god … not his parents._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid Mycroft and Molly have become a bit too comfortable, too soon. They're supposed to be my _angsty_ Mycroft and Molly, but seem to be morphing into my "Advantages" Mycroft and Molly! I need to take some time to figure them out. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I'd be _thrilled_ to read your thoughts - well, perhaps "thrilled" might be an exaggeration if you didn't like it, but I'd still be happy to hear what you think! Ha.
> 
> And I enjoy responding to all comments ... and in more detail than you probably wish ... :)
> 
> _Edited 7 April 2016 to add:_ It's come to my attention that the "structure" of this series could be confusing. If I'd known Mycroft's and Molly's relationship was going to develop the way it does, I would have started this as a multi-chaptered story instead of a series. PLEASE NOTE that although this Encounters series is made up of lots of 1/1 "Parts" (except this "Part 12 - Accommodation" with its two chapters), the storyline is chronological. Part 1 was originally going to be a one-off, with a rather sad ending ... but Mycroft and Molly had other ideas. :)
> 
> For anyone who might be interested, I'm on Tumblr and devote 99.99% of my time and effort there to Mycroft/Mark love. [WaitingForTheThaw](http://waitingforthethaw.tumblr.com/)


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